


Sandman: Megatron II

by HSBacklash01



Series: Sandman [2]
Category: G1 - Fandom
Genre: Character Death In Dream, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSBacklash01/pseuds/HSBacklash01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boogeyman takes different forms for different people...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandman: Megatron II

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, there is a part I; I just can't seem to find it in my boxes and flash drives...

Shadows dappled the walls far in the distance, and he swept the chamber with sensors, anticipating something to happen. A minute stole by, then two, his anger engorging with the silence surging in his audios. “What is this?” he shouted, the query disappearing into the darkness. Nothing.  
A scent reached him then, the tang of aluminum or titanium in the sun, too blistering to touch, the slightly-scorched polish undertone.  
A fleeting, subtle laugh, menacing. Threatening. The chuckle evaded identity, yet he knew the smell, or rather, who it belonged to.  
“Are you going to hide like the coward you are, or are you going to face me?” A slight tap-tap-tap, a rasp of metal, a rush of air. He snarled and scanned the direction of the sound with his fusion cannon.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

The chide came from everywhere. “For once that mouth of yours is silent? No bit of wisdom to impart?” A crimson glow gathered his attention, hallway up a wall to his left. The optics stared and bore into his, the grin underneath anticipating, promising, and mocking. “You offer me no sport in this, boy. I thought you would be more subtle!” The grin amplified, the optics taking on a malevolent cast, a boogeyman crouching in the gloom. He sensed a fragment of himself grow icy, wanting to flee. Was this what they saw, before he rent them apart, blasted them to tatters?  
He had seen the aftermath of the handicraft: he seemed to lose himself in the deed. He wondered if the monster before him had already been present, lying in wait, or if he’d created it.

“Well?” A sliver twinkled near the face, a chip of grayish-silver. The knife was seized in a fist cradling the chin, head tilted ever-so-slightly. He noted the muted green of the edge, the scores in the blade; it had seen much use. “Ah. I had wondered how you accomplished such tidy work. And you propose to use that?” Something was urging him to remain calm, to maintain a level voice, and make no sudden movements. He wished to just blast the psychotic, joker grin from the face, but fought the compulsion. He hazarded a glance around.

The collision threw him to the floor, the apex of the blade just stroking his chest. His arms pinned by knees, he worked to gather his feet under him. The optics scorched, their hue reflecting the inferno behind them. “I do have a point to make,” the grin breathed.

He felt the knife break through, rush forward, then nothing, only a voice:  
“This is all because of you, what you got yourself into.”

He came online with a gasp, hurtling up and scrubbing at the phantom incision. Looking down, he saw the hand trembling and drew it into a fist. He strode heatedly to the door, then through it and down a hallway. Stopping at another door, hesitating an instant before opening it. The face that had been the last he’d seen was resting on overlapped arms laid on a desk, still and slack. He began to roust the sleeping figure, decided against it. Observing a moment, he turned to leave. Before the door closed, he looked again: the face bore a grin.


End file.
